


A Wolf and A Wall

by Amelia041223



Series: The krakens are Calling [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-11
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-22 06:49:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3719152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amelia041223/pseuds/Amelia041223
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Theon travels to the Wall, meets Jon Snow again, meets an unexpected traveller on the road, and sees Jeyne Poole. Due to a slight change in events for him, he must follow the Ravens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Wolf

**Author's Note:**

  * For [My Sister who likes Theon too](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=My+Sister+who+likes+Theon+too).



> Sorry it has been so long, I am very lazy, but I hope you like it and please give me loads of feedback! I definitely need it!

Theon stood, shivering in the snow, a harsh wind threatening to push him over. What remained of his toes were frozen in their boots. Behind him, some north men were packing a wagon with supplies for the long journey ahead. Why aren't I dead? Theon shook his head. None of it made the slightest amount of sense, but yet, he was alive, and waiting to be carted off to the wall to a certain fate to die in the ice, or be killed by maybe Jon Snow himself. Theon did not picture a joyful reunion. Truth be told, he rather wished he was already good and buried, safe beneath the ground where no one could torment him any longer. However, things had a habit of never turning out the way he wished. Theon shrugged his bony shoulders, and half sighed with amusement. Wanting things to turn out right was what had gotten him into trouble in the first place. Besides, wishful thinking was not a particularly wise thing to do, but then again, Theon had never been known for possessing anything of the sort. 

Through the thick clouds of flakes, Theon could just make out a tall, sturdy figure steadily heading towards him. He knew who it was at once.  
'Come to say farewell to your dear brother?' He croaked, the ghost of a smile shadowing his lips.  
'Something like that,' Asha replied, squaring her shoulders. She gazed at him for a moment, before continuing.  
'Just, don't do anything stupid, okay?' She said gruffly. Theon nearly grinned.  
'I'll try hard not to, but, I have never been one to do anything wise,' he replied jokingly. Asha nodded her head in agreement.  
'Don't die,' she added, and with that, she turned on her heel, and sauntered away through the storm. Theon licked his cracked lips, and pondered on what she had said for a few moments. No, dying was something he so far was incapable of doing, much to his disappointment.

After a while, another, much smaller individual was making their way towards him. This time, Theon really did smile, exposing two rows of splinters, and remains.  
Wex stood stock still, thigh deep in snow, his hood pulled up, over his curls. They stood in silence for a while, each enjoying the other's company, as the world whirled around them. 'Oy! Turncloak! Get your arse over here!' The sharp voice jolted Theon to his senses, and, with one last nod, they parted separate ways. While fingering the small, precious slip of parchment folded neatly inside the pocket of his ill fitting trousers, bearing the names. You had to know your name, and now, no one, not one single person, will ever be able to wrest it from his grasp again. He could not afford to lose it again. Never.  
Theon, wincing at the pain lacing through his toes, he slowly, cautiously, hoisted himself up, into the wagon, huddled in between two large sacks of provisions. He let his legs dangle freely over the edge, and wrapped himself closely in his thin cloak. What awaited him on the road, he didn't know, only that it didn't like him, that was for sure. Not many things liked Theon Greyjoy in this world.

Theon jerked suddenly as the wagon came to an abrupt stop. He rubbed his eyes wearily, and found the rough wind had slowed to a gentle, icy breeze. Theon gently lowered himself to the ground, where he immediately sank to his knees in the snow. Without waiting for someone to notice him, he set off at a slow, yet surely pace through the forest, exploring the tall, dignified trees that surrounded him, their branches sagging heavily with snow. What if something came through the trees and killed me where I stand? The thought made him feel slightly hopeful. He trudged further into the gloom, and didn't pause for breath, until exhaustion took over, and he sagged against a tree. No one had called for him, and, frankly, he had lost his bearings a while back. He would eventually have to make his way back, wherever that was, but for the moment, he stood calmly in silence, embracing the peacefulness of the trees.

A twig snapped, shattering the silence. Theon's heart began to beat rapidly inside his chest. He froze, hardly daring to breathe. Something was near, watching him. He could feel it's eyes piercing through his skull, and suddenly, Theon felt terribly exposed. He tried to fold in on himself, gathering the black cloth of his cloak, and tightening it thoroughly around his torso. Maybe it will kill me, he thought hopefully.  
Then he saw it. A giant, brooding beast detached itself from the shadows, it's grey eyes illuminating the forest. He would know that stare anywhere. It's enormous paws scarcely leaving footprints in the snow as it padded softly towards him.  
Run, some small, distant part of him was saying. Theon ignored it. He would never make it anyway, he reasoned. Two bounds, and hopefully, a quick slash would do it.  
Nymeria gazed at him, a cold glint in it's eyes. Taking his chances, Theon slowly turned, and began to inch his way back down the large trail he had created. The direwolf didn't move, but regarded him with passive interest. Behind her, a pack of wolves howled for blood, their voices echoing through the woods.  
Theon's heart stopped in fear, but the rest of him continued to move down the path, and didn't pause to look back, to see if Nymeria had left. Every few minutes, he expected to feel sharp claws searing his flesh, but nothing happened. After a while, the howls receded, and Theon only took that to mean he was much too small and uninteresting to hunt. That came as an unexpected relief to Theon. Perhaps being eaten alive wasn't one of the most pleasant ways to go, he decided. 

When Theon arrived back where he started, the men had already pitched their tents, and eaten. A small, pitiful pile of ashes and sticks was all that remained of the fire they had set. No one had remembered him, which was how he preferred it.  
Theon instead went and sat beneath a tree, it's branches hanging protectively over his head. He turned back towards the forest, and nearly leaped from his skin in alarm. Nymeria stood tall and still. She must have followed him all the way back without his knowing. 'What do you want?' He called, 'go and follow someone else.' Nymeria didn't turn away, but instead lay regally in the snow, ever watching him closely.  
'Fine, stay then,' Theon sighed. He burrowed down in the snow, and waited for the sun to rise once more, never closing an eye.

Theon ignored the hunger gnawing painfully in his stomach, and, as he was not offered any food, waited under his tree until the men had packed their tents, and supplies. He once again hoisted himself into the wagon, and as they set off once more, Theon could still see as Nymeria still followed from under the cover of the trees.

It was several days before they had finally made it to the wall. Dread spread through him like wildfire. It clenched his hearts in a meaty fist, and refused to let go. Theon slid clumsily from the wagon, Nymeria's ghostly eyes piercing the back of his skull as he clambered forward, the wall looming over him intimidatingly. A shiver ran along Theon's spine. He shuffled slowly into the yard. No one hindered him, or took any notice. Men were practising sword fighting in the yard, and some even archery. Theon's fingers flexed in longing. He dreadfully missed the feeling of a longbow in his hands, the weight of an arrow, the satisfaction of hitting a target. He still remembered that day in the forest, with Bran and Robb...he shook his head to rid himself of those thoughts. They hung heavily in his mind.

After a few minutes of aimless wandering, he eventually began to explore the living quarters. Avoiding the dinner hall, and crowded hallways, he staggered up a few staircases, until he eventually came upon a small door at the end of a hallway. Instinct told him to flee back down the stairs as fast as his legs could carry him, but instead he reached out with one maimed hand and gently opened the door.

A man lay there, struggling for breath, a bandage wrapped heavily around various wounds on his body. The stench of blood was thick, and overpowering. Theon nearly gagged, until he saw who it was laying in the bed.  
Jon Snow's grey eyes slowly found him at the door. Confusion was the first thing on his face. Theon was just about to flee back down the hall, when, after long scrutiny, Snow's eyes suddenly widened in recognition. Theon began to back slowly out of the room, when, before he could react, Snow's hand had flown to a knife on his bedside table. Theon was thrown against the wall, and held there with the blade at his throat. Snow's eyes reflected a flare of anger and madness. Theon tried to speak, but was cut off as the dirk pressed harder against his windpipe. Snow only screamed one word.

He knows my name, Theon thought.


	2. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon Snow reacquaints himself with Theon Greyjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know my last chapter was boring, and this one is still pretty late, but, I am a procrastinator. Thank you for reading, and I hope you like it!

The world was dark, and clouded. Jon could barely see, nor comprehend what was standing in front of him, with a blade pressed to his throat. His blade. But he knew who this man was, and Jon despised every inch of him. A murderer. A turncloak. A traitor. Jon had forever been strong enemies with this man, but now, the hatred was overpowering.

Jon screamed the man's name, rage boiling thick and hot in his stomach, as he pressed the blade further into the traitor's neck. A thin trickle of blood ran from the cut he had made, but, before he could finish the job, Jon dimly felt the door burst open, and someone wrap their arms around his, forcing the knife away from the turncloak. As Jon was carefully steered away, he noticed the man close his eyes as though in disappointment, though, that didn't make the slightest amount of sense.

Jon sagged as the pain from multiple stab wounds swam through his body, and forced him into a cloaked fog.

Theon Greyjoy was at the wall was the first furious thought that entered Jon's muddled brain. What was he doing here was the second. Jon felt the anger simmering dully beneath the various blankets of fur he lay beneath, and yet, he shivered in a pool of cold sweat. Jon barely contemplated his next move, before reaching slowly for the valyrian sword that leaned against the front bed post. Jon didn't care in the slightest what Greyjoy was doing here, only that he was going to be executed fairly shortly.

'I wouldn't pick that up if I were you,' a voice croaked softly from the shadows, 'it might tear your stitches.' Jon paused. He dimly recognized that tone, but, otherwise it was completely unfamiliar. Then it hit him, and he reached for the sword anyway, pausing midway with a hiss of pain.  
'You,' he seethed between clenched teeth. 'Get out before I kill you.'

'Then I shall stay, if you don't mind. Look, Jon, there are things I need to tell you, things you may not know about.' Greyjoy wheezed. He sounded like a dying, old man.  
'Like what? Wether or not I can lift my own sword? I don't need any help from you, turn cloak,' Jon retorted.  
'Theon. My name is Theon,' Greyjoy replied evenly. Then it hit him. Something was sincerely wrong about this. Why hadn't he seen it before? Hatred, Jon realized, had been blocking his vision. Then he noticed something else. None of it mattered. Jon was alone in the world, and, part of it was Greyjoy's fault. He had lost two younger brothers to this murderer, and what was he doing? Talking. Bran and Rickon had been two of the sweetest boys you could ever meet, and Greyjoy had been so cold blooded as to kill them. Their blood was smeared all over the traitor's hands.

'Leave now, before I run you through!' Jon screamed, lurching once again for the long sword, his fingers curling around the smooth handle. Greyjoy didn't move, and Jon saw no figure leave the corner.

'Just hear me out, and I promise I will leave you in peace,' Greyjoy pleaded. Jon grunted as he carefully began to drag himself out from beneath the numerous layers of fur. 'Rickon is alive! I never murdered the boys, so Bran could still be out there, and maybe we could bring him home,' Jon paused in astonishment. It took some time for this news to register, but when it finally did, Jon felt his sword slip from his fingers and heard it clang noisily on the floor. Jon froze, and saw a shadow in the corner leap in surprise. Eventually a response sprung to mind, followed by a mountain of crushing doubt. 'You're lying,' Jon mumbled, though every fibre in his being wished it to be true, that maybe his two younger half brothers could possibly still be alive. 'I would never lie about this. Rickon is at Winterfell with Stannis. I even spoke to him myself. He and the wildling woman we're hiding on Skagos during, well...' Again, none of this made any sense to Jon. Rickon was alive, and Bran possibly as well? The weight of it sent Jon reeling back into the stack of pillows behind him.

Jon lay, the ghost of a smile he had begun to forget was possible, began to form on his cracked lips. He so much wanted to believe it was true, that he accepted the news, and remembered to breathe again.

That night, Jon listened as Greyjoy spoke upon request of the youngest Stark boy, alive and well, how he had changed, and how he had not. What his hair was like, and if he still remembered Jon. Greyjoy sat in the dark, and for once, shared what passed to be the most civilized conversation either of them had ever had together. Of course, Jon still felt deep loathing, but for now, he solely focused on the stories of a boy he had thought to be dead.

Eventually, Greyjoy began to ask about what had transpired at the Wall. Jon was slightly stumped for an answer, for no one had told him anything, not even the wildling women who came to address his bandages, and when Dolorous Edd would arrive, carrying a pecarious wooden tray laden with small helpings of whatever was being served that day, well, he usually didn't open his mouth unless it was to spout something gloomy. Jon had otherwise been completely left in the dark. He did, however, know there had been a short battle between the Watch and the Wildlings, which had ended with many pyres, and a shaky compromise, and Jon left to heal in a spare room, for the stairs in the main castle were easier to climb than those of the Commander's Tower, that is, if he was still Commander. 

There had also been a heart crushing moment of hope, however, when Jeyne Poole had arrived, attempting to pass herself off as Arya. The memory of her was still too painful to bear, but, Jon had let the girl stay, and keep the lie going, though he didn't know how much longer he could go when she would be forced to occasionallly visit him, in order to ward off suspicion.

Solely to keep the conversation flowing, Jon reluctantly filled Greyjoy in on all he knew had transpired, but, when it came to mentioning Jeyne, he decided to refer to her as Arya. Greyjoy said nothing after this, and Jon got the slight impression that perhaps Theon knew something that didn't. Ignoring this thought, he went on into explaining the knife wounds that seemed to cover numerous parts of his anatomy.

By the time the light began to fade behind the thick, black curtain partially covering the gap in the wall to the white world outside, neither of them felt the slightest bit of compassion for the other, and Jon still felt a strong surge of loathing that he was fairly certain would never dissolve. Greyjoy slightly awkwardly, with none of the cocky ease that Jon remembered, stood from his chair, and left the room, limping all the while. It was then Jon began to wonder what had happened to the arrogant boy he had known so long ago.


	3. A Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Theon experiences life at the wall, sees Jeyne Poole again, and starts to follow the Ravens, and crows.

Theon leaned heavily against the slick stone wall lined with ice, shivering in the cold. His feet ached from the long staircases, and the wind blew violently around him, threatening to knock him to the ground. It had been strange to see Snow after what seemed like forever, and have what could have passed to be a mature conversation. They had both changed drastically from the last they had met, but Snow less so. It had seemed so strange that once a lifetime ago, they had both lived in Winterfell, outsiders to House Stark, and rivals to each other. It had been so long ago. 

Theon trudged slowly through the snow as it crunched beneath his feet, and wiped the remaining blood from his throat. The cut on his neck stung, but Theon scarcely took notice, as it was hardly a problem. When Snow had that blade up against him, Theon had briefly thought the end was near, until a Black Brother who introduced himself as Dolorous Edd pried Jon from him, and placed back beneath his fur. Theon knew this wasn't the man's name, and couldn't understand why he would go along with it. You had to know your name. 

Dolorous Edd had come across as a man with a dark, sarcastic sense of humour, and a permanent cloud of glum over him. He seemed to speak bluntly as well. Theon judged him to be a generally rare, good person. He hadn't asked for an introduction, so Theon had refrained from doing so, as it was one less person calling him "turncloak". Once Snow had begun to stir, as he had fainted when Dolorous Edd had taken hold of him, he had decided to leave. 

Now, Theon knew who he wished to see, who he knew he must. He circled the yard, limping all the while, as he waited for a sign that Jeyne Poole, or, no, Arya Stark, was about. Theon could tell from the tone in Snow's voice that he had known the girl was a fraud, but none the less, someone from home. Theon vaguely wondered what Snow's reaction had been when he realized the truth. He felt a twinge of pity.

After a while, Theon eyed a young girl as she left the dining Hall, a chorus of drunken merriment at her back, quickly receding as the dor latched behind her. Theon struggled to reach her as the wind snapped as his cloak, and the snow bit at his toes. The girl turned slowly as he came noisily up behind her. Her eyes widened upon recognition her nose still black and hard.

'Hello, Arya,' Theon croaked. She instantly collapsed into a wet fountain of tears in his arms as she sobbed I to his bony shoulder. 

'Please, I don't want to be Arya! I am-'

'Shh,' Theon quickly cut in before she announced her true identity. A couple of Wildlings glanced at them briefly before returning to their work, and a couple of Black Brothers eyed them with a hint of suspicion glinting in their eyes. Theon knew it was time to lead her to a more secluded location. He gently wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and lead her to the rear of the Commander's Tower. There they pressed themselves against the wall, Arya huddled in a cloak of fur against his chest, a few last tears streaming quietly down her frost bitten cheeks, Theon with his arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders as the wind picked savagely at their clothes. 

They didn't say a word to each other, though they listened to the howl of rage from the wind as it tore at their skin. Then she spoke once more, a mere whisper against the bellowing gale.

'Don't leave me,'

'I won't,' Theon replied reassuringly. How could he promise that? It wasn't out of love, but he somehow felt responsible for this girl. She had suffered untold horrors from, from Him, and Theon felt guilt. She had asked for his help before, and he had refused to give it. He felt shame, that it had been his fault for, well, of course it had! All of it had been his fault, he betrayed Robb, and for some inexplicable reason, he wasn't the only one who had suffered because of it. It weighed in Theon's stomach like a pile of sharp rocks. He felt sick, and nearly vomited in Arya's hair. That would have been his fault too, he thought dimly.

Instead he took a deep intake of cold air, and it nearly froze in his throat as a large, sinister shadow broke away from the darkness. Theon coughed, as Jeyne squealed in fright. The figure approached, and became the now familiar shape and size of Nymeria. Theon relaxed, then tensed once more as the direwolf's eyes glowed dangerously. Arya began to tremble.

'What is it? It, it...' She coward. A thought suddenly sprung to Theon's mind. 'You know who it is, Arya. It's your direwolf, Nymeria,' he said. Arya shook her head violently. Her name was Jeyne, though. It rhymed with pain. 'I'm not though! I don't...' Her voice was lost in the wind as Nymeria padded softly through the snow towards them. They stood stock still, hardly daring to breathe. The direwolf then did something unexplainable. She wrapped her thick, fur torso around them, as if to keep them warm. Theon sighed in shocked relief, while Jeyne closed her eyes, and didn't move. Why hadn't they been torn to pieces? Theon thought as they burrowed in the animal's long, scraggly hair. It was a great improvement, though Theon still felt uneasy.

Once what could have passed for daylight obscured by a pile of grey clouds lit the sky, Theon, not having shut his eyes a wink, gently patted Jeyne awake. She was almost completely obscured by fur, but, once she was on her feet, blinking owlishly, Nymeria rose, and left as silent as the fog surrounding them.

Jeyne reluctantly slid from his arms and hurried off into the Castle before anyone saw them together. Theon knew it would appear suspicious, so he limped back into the yard, confused on what he was supposed to be doing. Many men were already there, some clad in black, while others in random furs. Theon shook his head. Not so long ago, Wildlings and the Night's Watch would not be in the same room together without killing each other. What had changed? Well, Winter was coming, for one thing, but that must have meant something stronger, something more.

'Oy, you, who are you?' a gruff yet young voice called. Theon turned, and watched as a group of men and boys, boys who, at a glance, had seen horrible things, were handling swords, and shooting arrows at dummies. The voice had come from a tall youth, with a coarse beard, and a hard look in his eyes. Theon gingerly stepped uneasily forward, unsteady on his maimed toes, and answered, 'Theon Greyjoy,' then waited for the worst. None came, for it seemed these boys did not know what he had done. Theon sighed, and approached them, though he knew he should back away, for this was not a time he would like to present his utter uselessness.

'Why are you here, Lord Greyjoy?' The boy sneered. Theon noticed the slight emphasis placed on the word Lord. Behind him, many others had ceased from fighting, their swords coming to a rest at their sides. A large, frightful beast of a man with a bush for hair broke into a thunderous laugh. Others around him chuckled nervously. 'He's a Lord, all right, although a rather thin and old one!' The man bellowed. Theon decided not to take offence at this, but merely looked at his boots. It was strange, he thought, to be called a Lord. It didn't feel right, not in the least.

'I am not that old, I don't think...' He hazarded. At this, most everyone had broken into a peel of hearty laughter. A ghost of a grin began to appear on Theon's lips, but he remained careful not to show his teeth. 'Oh, I like you, Greyjoy! Got a sense of humour on you! Har!' The man guffawed. Theon's eyes widened. These were words he had never heard before, really. Not in what seemed like a lifetime. They sounded strange, as though foreign. His mind had barely wrapped around this, before the man introduced himself. 'Tormund Giantsbane,' he said, and Theon was delighted no hand had been extended. 

The yard suddenly fell into silence, and Theon couldn't quite figure out what was amiss, when a familiar voice spoke over the howl of the gale. Snow looked ragged, and worse for wear, but none the less, looked his age. Theon waited for his speech to diminish, which had seemed to consist of mainly motivation, when at long last, Jon finished to silence, and approached Theon in the yard. Tormund moved to clamp Snow in what appeared to be an encouraging way, but he waved him off. Theon figured Snow didn't wish to be in bed once more.

'Jon, or, Lord Commander, I need permission to cross to the other side,' Theon blurted before he had a chance to speak. Snow paused for a minute before answering. 'Lady Arya doesn't seem to wish for your leave,' he answered with a hard look in his eyes. Theon nodded, but persisted. 'I need to do this. I can't explain, but...' Then Theon heard it, like a soft, every chorus calling from every direction imaginable. The yard soon fell into silence.

A plague of black birds rushed in from various directions, screaming what seemed to be the same chant over and over, though, Theon knew what they meant, what they wanted. In a way it hardly made sense, but he knew what they most desired, what they had come to sing.

Theon, Time, Tree, Theon, Time, Tree, THEON!

Many men were staring at him now, for they had heard the raven's crey, although they didn't understand, they seemed altogether bewildered. Theon turned to Snow, and said, 'You heard them, you know it's what I have to do,' Snow shook his head. 'That hardly makes sense,' he responded. Theon merely nodded. 'It's time for you all to go home, I think,' he said, then turned on his heel and plunged through the snow towards the gates, one thought circling round in his head, with a grin spread comfortably across his face. It felt good for once. It was time for home, but not his. He wasn't even sure he had one anymore.

Then he thought as the world screamed above, They know my name. You have to know your name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My brother closed the tab when I was almost done, but I had very stupidly forgotten to save so I hope you like it the second time around, though I am so mad, I rushed it. Please leave feedback!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Part five might be a while, and there is a lot more to come! I'm sorry i am terrible at writing, but at least I tried. Please tell me how i did!


End file.
